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The Coffee Shop / Re: The MWC Bar/Red Barren Bar
« Last post by Noizchild on February 22, 2020, 08:53:40 PM »
Okay, mental hospital it is.
The Coffee Shop / Re: The MWC Bar/Red Barren Bar
« Last post by JTetstone on February 22, 2020, 03:58:50 PM »
I thought there was a law against 'bullying'.... Duh... I reckon it's ok, since the bully  is the same one who comes to the red Barren to get her nails done ::)
Welcome Board - START HERE! / Re: Hello
« Last post by JTetstone on February 22, 2020, 03:48:41 PM »
Hello and Welcome.
The Gallery / Thoughts on My Birthday
« Last post by JTetstone on February 20, 2020, 09:29:23 AM »
It's a new day
 the birds are singing
 happily, loud enough
 for me to hear.
 Yesterday, in the past
 lay, with the darkness
 of its time... The things
 that once broke my heart
 are left behind.
 Lord, You have always held
 my hand; You have never let
 me fall below who I am.
 Thank you Lord for staying near
 enough to my heart, that all
 I have to do is turn to you
 in faithful prayer, to always see
 you standing there, to help me
 through the things hard for
 my heart to bear.
9:07 am February 20, 2020

As I journey on in life
 let me not with sadness in my
 heart look back on yesterday's
 tear; for what is passed has
 no substance in my today, but
 what I give to it.

 Life has many faces, many dreams
 many failures, but life does not
 end with these things.

 Lord, let me see beneath the
 shadow of bigger and
 better things.
9:16am February 20, 2020

            -Jan Tetstone
Review My Work / Hunter, Chapter 1
« Last post by eharries on February 17, 2020, 10:03:18 AM »
Hi all,
I'm new to this board and any feedback on my Chapter 1 of a YA novel, 'Hunter' would be greatly appreciated. Some mature themes.
Many thanks.

I let out another shiver as the icy wind slapped against my bare flesh. I was regretting my rash clothing decision of a practically non-existent miniskirt. Instead of feeling sexy, I felt like a slut and I supposed the cold was my punishment. I fingered the rough edges, willing it to grow a few inches longer. As if to mock me, it flew up as another gust of wind hit me, exposing my underwear to the car park. At least it was deserted. With one hand firmly on the bottom of my skirt, I reached into my bag to check my mobile for the hundredth time. Nothing. Impatiently, I dialled Scott’s number once more. Straight to answerphone.
I huffed loudly and began to pace to warm up my legs. I caught sight of my reflection in a darkened car window and checked myself over self-consciously. A face with heavy set eyeliner, silky straight chocolate hair falling in front of her eyes and red stained lips stared back at me, wearing an expression of mild confusion as though she couldn’t really believe this was me. I looked away quickly, not wanting to look at her any longer.
I stared out at the empty car park waiting for headlights to break through the growing darkness. The acrid tang of petrol hung in the air, laced with the pungent odours of the overflowing bin next to me. Back home in the warmth, this nocturnal venture had seemed thrilling and naughty; now it felt scary, cold and I just wanted to clear this muck off my face and dive under my duvet. Just as I pulled my mobile out one final time to call a taxi, I saw twin headlights twinkling ahead and straightened up warily, not wanting to draw attention to myself if it wasn’t him. My mobile jingled to life in my hand and Scott’s caller ID flashed up on the screen.
‘Babe, I’m here.’
I let out a sigh of relief and hung up without a word, hurrying over to the black Mercedes. He parked neatly in a vacant space and jumped out. Even in the darkness, my heart gave a leap at seeing his beautiful face and I felt a ridiculous grin spread across my face.
‘You’re late’, I chastised, trying to sound mad.
He grinned sheepishly and pulled me hard into an embrace, pressing his warm lips against mine. He tasted of alcohol and laced in with his normal musky aftershave was the distinctive floral tones of a woman’s perfume. I pulled back abruptly, confused.
‘Where were you?’ I forced myself to meet those lovely emerald eyes, trying to hide the concern from my voice.
He laughed.
‘I’m here now aren’t I?’
I frowned. Scott put an arm around my shoulder and led me towards his car, opening the passenger door for me. I sat down, contemplating whether to interrogate him further and potentially sound like the scared sixteen year-old that I was, or just go with it. I was so caught up in my own thoughts that it was only when the car had started that I realised we were not alone. In the rear-view mirror I could make out a boy and a girl on the backseat. The girl was sitting in the middle seat, an attractive blonde of about seventeen or eighteen. Her eyes were wide like a doe’s, and glazed over as she stared into space. The guy looked vaguely familiar; one of Scott’s friends whom I had met once or twice, tall, with copper hair and the chiselled features of a model.
‘Who are your friends?’ I asked Scott quietly, my mouth feeling slightly dry.
He grinned widely like a Cheshire cat.
‘They wanted to join the party.’
My eyes locked on the blonde girl once more. She was swaying slightly; her face had a pale, ghostly pallor. Scott caught my uneasy expression and took my hand into his lap, giving it a firm squeeze. I looked away from him, out the passenger window at the blurred streetlights flashing by, feeling nauseous.
‘Come on Kit Kat, don’t be mad. I’m sorry I was late’, he cooed, tracing a finger around the sensitive part of my palm, ‘You look hot, by the way.’
His eyes flickered hungrily over my low top and the skirt that had now ridden right up to barely cover my pants. I allowed him a small smile, my cheeks pink from the compliment. He leant across me to reach into the glove box and withdrew a bottle of something and pressed it into my hands.
‘For you’.
I shook my head, eying the contents of the bottle suspiciously. He sighed impatiently.
‘Come on babe, live a little. A little drink isn’t going to kill you.’
Unable to resist the challenge in his voice, I unscrewed the cap and took a large gulp. The liquid scorched my throat as it slipped down and I spluttered.
‘What is this?’
He laughed at my reaction, reaching down and squeezing my thigh.
‘Good girl. It’s my own signature cocktail. Like it?’
I laughed, feeling the tension that had been building inside me relinquish its grasp.
‘It tastes like rocket fuel.’
I offered him a swig. He pretended to look horrified.
‘Babe, I’m driving.’
I giggled. The sip of drink had given me some Dutch courage.
‘Live a little’, I pouted.
In a swift motion, he leaned over and gave me a quick, feisty kiss, all hot lips and probing tongue, which left me feeling flustered and hungry for more. Hormones and alcohol sped through my blood, a heady, potent cocktail which made me light-headed and my body responsive to him. He slammed the speakers on and a heavy bass vibrated through the car. The streetlights had thinned out and we turned onto a minor road. More time passed as we moved onto more deserted streets until eventually Scott indicated off the main road onto a dirt track. My anxiety returned, fluttering at the edges of my heart, my brain suddenly alert, warning lights flicked on.
‘Where are we going?’
Scott turned the speakers down to a gentle thrum and grinned.
‘The party’.
Trees flickered in front of the headlights, their long shadows snatching at the car as we drove on. They became thicker and thicker on either side, sheltering us from the moonlight. I tried to steady my breathing to dispel my frightened thoughts. Stop being such a scaredy-cat. I took another sip from the bottle for courage and the hot liquid felt comforting as it caressed my throat.
After what seemed like an eternity, the track widened out into a small clearing. Gnarled trees surrounded us like a witch’s coven, hatching a spell. Scott hit a button on the dashboard, severing the music completely. I became conscious of the heavy breathing of the two behind me, the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in a metal cage. In a swift motion, I made a grab for the car door, suddenly desperate for fresh air, a hot flush racing up my whole body, my breathing laboured. It was locked. I caught sight of Copper-Hair staring at me through the wing mirror, unblinking like a lion surveying its prey.
‘Scott, let me out’. The panic crept into my voice, tearing at my vocal cords.
‘Hey’, he soothed, ‘It’s ok’.
He disabled the central locking and I stumbled out the passenger door, taking deep, greedy breaths of the cold night air. There was a gentle thud as the car doors closed; the others had followed suit. Copper-Hair was surveying me with a lazy smile; the lion teasing its prey. He looked me up and down, eyes lingering on the hem of my skirt, the neck of my top. I crossed my arms across my body, feeling as though he had stripped me with his eyes. Scott sauntered over, pulling me into a tight embrace.
‘Feeling ok?’ he asked softly against my ear.
I nodded, though panic still coursed through my blood, doing battle with the calming effects of the alcohol. He pulled me closer against his body, hands dropping to my waist, smoothing over my arse, fiddling with the edges of my tiny skirt. I tried to pull away, aware we had an audience but he only pulled me more firmly against him, hands reaching up underneath my skirt, kissing me aggressively, roughly. I murmured a protest against his lips, until eventually he pulled back. I glared up at him, angry at him for ignoring me. His beautiful emerald eyes twinkled in amusement at my pissed off expression.
‘Dress like that and you can’t blame me if I can’t take my hands off you’, he said with a shrug, totally unapologetic.
‘Where’s the party?’ I demanded, still glaring at him.
‘I guess we’re early’, he smirked, hand slipping beneath my skirt. With difficulty, I wriggled away from him and gave him a scathing look.
‘Alright,’ he said eventually, ‘We’re the party.’ He gestured around at the other two.
The blonde girl was leaning up against the car door, swaying slightly. She began to hum a sad little tune under her breath. Copper-Hair had taken hold of her arm, pulling her closer to him. I turned away from them all, my head spinning. The tree branches creaked in the wind, joining in with the girl’s morbid song. I felt Scott touch my arm pulling me towards him as though in slow motion. His hands crawled all over me, grabbing possessively. I pulled away once more and stumbled, my feet buckling from underneath me. I couldn’t understand it; I’d only had a few sips of drink and yet it was like I was wasted.
‘Whoa, easy’. A different pair of hands caught me. I turned around as though in slow motion and found the voice belonged to Copper-Hair. He smelt like Scott; expensive aftershave mixed in with alcohol. Instinct told me to get away from the stranger, but my body felt disconnected to my brain. Scott’s face appeared in front of me, distorted in my current state, eyes penetrating.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ My voice sounded distant, like it wasn’t my own.
He cupped my face, grinning.
‘Babe, you’re very drunk.’
The copper-haired stranger grabbed me roughly, lips bashing against mine, hands fumbling under my skirt, pushing roughly against my underwear. I tried to pull away and skidded on the loose stones carpeting the forest clearing, losing my footing. Scott’s shouts rattled off the treetops, cascading down into my ears.
‘That’s enough, Leo.’
I was being pulled roughly to my feet once more. My body wasn’t responding properly; it was as though I were a puppet whose strings had been cut.
‘Scott’, I called out groggily.
Scott took hold of my arm, easing me away from Leo, towards the car. I let out a sigh of relief to be away from the copper-haired guy. When we reached the car, Scott pushed me up against it roughly, pushing his tongue into my mouth like a serpent’s forked tongue. My body responded to his against my wishes, moving to his touch, out of control. I began to shake with the effort of trying to combat whatever was happening to my body. His arms caged me in his embrace. I could feel the desire radiating off his body and a wave of fear washed over my body. Not like this. He leant in, nipping gently at my ear.
‘Shh’, he breathed in my ear, ‘Just go with it.’
I shook my head, the wood around me spinning like a merry-go-round.
‘Go with what?’ my voice was hysterical.
‘Don’t worry; you probably won’t remember a thing.’ He hitched up my skirt.
The wood became very hazy, trees blurring together into the ground that seemed to tremble beneath me. The icy wind beat hard against my bare legs, trying its best to tear through my clothes. Then, everything went black.
Sir, Thanks for your best wishes for my book.
Sometimes we take longer to understand the truth in our life!!
Wow, I wonder how I've survived for 70 years without knowing any of this. What a load of psychobabble nonsense - but good luck with selling your book on here.

Love is the very first emotion which we are bestowed with at birth and the same needs to be carried forward till our death.
On the contrary, this emotion of love gets modified into jealousy and hatred because we start comparing our have and have nots with others along with whom we grow.
If someone close and dear to us achieves something in his or her life, we become happy but if the same person is our competitor or not dear to us, we tend to become jealous. So the best way to be in the emotion of love is to consider every one dear to you.
Before we start to love others we must love ourselves as if we do not do so, we can not love anyone else.
So in the morning right after waking up, one must stand in front of the mirror and appreciate oneself for everything - starting from looks to abilities and the thought process.
One can know more about love in the book " When I Met Myself by Shreyansh Dixit, which is available at Amazon and one can read a full chapter on how to grow love from within.
The book is a self- talk of the author with his soul, where one day he asks questions relating to meaning full existence and his soul gives him 19 principles, following that, one can live blissfully.
Review My Work / Re: Truth in numbers - chapter 1 part 1 draft 2
« Last post by PIJ1951 on February 13, 2020, 02:25:33 PM »
Better !!!!!
Review My Work / Truth in numbers - chapter 1 part 2 draft 2 1437 words
« Last post by Nooglepop13 on February 13, 2020, 11:40:33 AM »
Tash ran a hand through her hair, relishing the pressure of her fingertips on the exposed nerves of her skull. Curled up on the floor, she resembled a small, muttering clam. Another wave of euphoria swept over her: she closed her eyes, mushed her head against a cool wooden bedpost, and let pleasure overcome her.

She took the bus still slightly dazed. By the time she arrived on campus though the sun was a fiery crescent in the blush coloured sky, and her high, like the once dazzling night, had faded. Her legs were steady as she crunched up the gravel pathway towards the lake. She hated herself for wishing them weak and wobbly. For wishing for the reedy twig legs of anorexia, for the way her calves used to feel hollowed and precarious. She marched on, past the dark lineament of sentinel trees; past the squawking low-lying birds nestled in shrubbery; past the scampering dormice that darted out from obese green hedges; past the fairytale-esque bridge that arched over the lake. Finally, she arrived at the foot of Wanderer’s Hill, at the rim of the flat black water, where a whispering crowd of teenagers huddled around an object that at this point was invisible, but which Tash knew was a body.

She pushed through the indignant crowd and leaned over the body. The victim was a thin white male, aged around twenty by Tash’s best guess, with long dread-locked hair and round glasses which gave him an air of John Lennon. His skin was an eery shade of puce, his limbs were stiff and doll-like, and some student or another had had the decency to press his eyelids shut. And then there was the surprising part.

All over his body numerical equations were scratched into the skin, covering every exposed part of him like grotesque tattoos. There was one on his ear. One on his nose. One on the wrinkled underside of his foot. Looking closer, Tash discovered not all of them were equations. Most of them, in fact, were simple numerical formulae, the sort of thing any first-year maths undergraduate would understand.
Turning to the crowd, she spotted Hannah, who stood dressed in an illegally short skirt and six inch heels.

“He’s quite good looking isn’t he?” Tash said.

“Tash!” Hannah hissed. “You can’t say that!”

“Why not? I would.”


This was a lie.

She breathed in and raked a cursory hand through her impenetrable curls.

“It’s basic stuff. The problem isn’t the maths it’s the meaning. For example…”

She stooped over the body and pressed her little finger to the dead man’s ear.

“What does ln(e) written on the earlobe mean? Ln(e), as I’m sure you know, simply means 1. That could mean it’s the first killing of a series, meaning you lot are off the hook, probably.”
The gaggle of twitching teenagers, at the merest mention of being potential suspects, exchanged nervous glances.

“But why 1 on the ear, not the foot, or the chin, or the forehead – the forehead is the most exposed part of the body and therefore the most visible, the most obvious” She spoke calmly, as though trying to teach fractions to a seven year old for the first time. She was clear, but also meek; she walked as she spoke, slouched into herself, eyes fixed on her own feet.

“My guess would be that the ear has some significance linked to the number one. What number one do you hear? Number one in the charts. The question then is the number one in which country, on which date? And what significance that number one has.” She flicked her eyes upwards towards her captive audience for a second, and flashed them an awkward grin.

“Sorry. I rambled on a bit.”

She did a perverse run-hop-skuttle ensemble to the edge of the circle of teenagers, trying without success to blend into the crowd.

“Go on Tash! Keep going”. Hannah threw her fist in the air as though praising a rock star. She turned to one of the gaggle.

“See what I mean? She’s like fucking Sherlock Holmes! Bit odd but very clever. Never get to your lectures though do
you Tash?”

“No.” said Tash, without inflection.

“And?” One of the students piped up with a sneer. “What does this even mean? Who killed James?”

Tash did not emerge from the cluster of teens but her voice could be heard over the light murmering of the wind.

“I don’t know yet, I’ll take some photos and send Hannah the results, I’m all talked out.”

She spoke with her hands clasped to her eyes. Hannah sauntered over and put a confident arm around Tash’s plump
shoulders. She gave them a tight squeeze. As she hugged her, she slipped a £50 note into the pocket of her grimy hoody. Tash gritted her teeth and inwardly counted to ten.

“We’re really grateful Tash, honest.” Hannah said. She moved away from Tash and started snapping pics with her phone, capturing the body at every angle. 

After a quick but arduous bus journey involving a stroppy driver and an extremely sociable young mother, Tash’s sense of social exhaustion had not abated. She disembarked the bus and headed straight for the adjacent supermarket, propelled by a buzz of guilty elation. Her index and middle fingers pulsated rhythmically on her leg, mimicking the motion they would make in an hour or so when she would thrust them into her mouth and pound them against the pharynx until her guts gushed out. Her cheeks were flushed. The thrill was in the chase, or in this case, the accumulation of the food, more so than in the eating or puking. She grabbed a basket, turned the volume of her headphones up to full, and began flinging cakes, biscuits, all kinds of confectionary into it. The rush crystallised and shattered, however, when she had to pay for everything she had chosen. It was always like this. The urge to binge, her feverish purchases, the humiliation at the checkout. The paranoia that she’d be recognised. Then the regret, already sour in her stomach, as she walked back home, over-stretched bags swinging.

It wasn’t easy doing what she did. First off it was expensive; secondly it hurt. The first few mouthfuls were an explosion of flavour in her mouth, the next thousand were born as much out of pig-headedness as of a need to fill the stomach. And then there was the purging. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was euphoric. It was painful, but a relief. Afterwards, she rinsed her hands of the mucus-thick saliva that came from purging, and of the vomit that seemed to get everywhere: on her fingers; in her hair; down her t-shirt. She spritzed the toilet with cleaner and wiped the underside of the seat down. She changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas as she had urinated involuntarily during a violent heave. She stuffed the empty wrappers in the rubbish. It was important to cleanse after a binge. No matter how hard she tried though, the urge always resurfaced, and the odour of vomit and degradation clung to her whatever she did.

She sat in the middle of her chaotic floor and ruffled her hair. She wished she could tear it out. Popping another
couple of pills along with her morning antidepressants, she began scrolling through the images of the equations and working on them on various pieces of scrap paper. The first equation used the constant X. Tash wondered if this was a quip on it’s double meaning, if it eluded to an ex -partner. This was confirmed when X was revealed to be a decimal with the same number of digits as a phone number. She jotted the phone number down and returned to the puzzle of the number 1 on the ear. She presumed somewhere there must lie a clue to the date the single achieved number one, but as yet she couldn’t find it.

The vomiting had left her woozy. She crawled into bed and threw the duvet over herself. As always, she fell into a
fitful, sleepless doze. When she awoke, or rather could no longer ignore the fact that she was awake, she decided to call the ex’s phone number. 
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